


Salt on Your Tongue

by Zai42



Series: October 2020 [4]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bukkake, Chains, F/M, Forced Kissing, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Multi, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26810818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Grizzop survives. Sasha made sure of it.Prompt: Bukkake
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Sasha Racket, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Sasha Racket
Series: October 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946893
Comments: 16
Kudos: 31
Collections: A Wilde Ride October Collection





	Salt on Your Tongue

The last thing Grizzop remembered was the spear going through his throat, and the distant surprise that it didn’t hurt more. Even now, stirring into wakefulness, he was surprised he didn’t hurt more - or perhaps he was surprised he was waking at all, as he slowly began to recall how many cultists there had been, at the end. Or not the end, as it turned out.

“Sasha,” he rasped suddenly, remembering, and tried to sit up, only to be stopped by the clanking of heavy chains - around his wrists, his ankles, his throat. “Sasha, what - ”

_“Shh!”_ Sasha’s voice hissed in his ear, and Grizzop realized he was in her lap, her arms looped around him, her own chains heavy across his back, and he felt a jolt of rage go through him.

He lifted his head and looked around. Above him, Sasha was wild-eyed, and Grizzop realized they were in the back of a cart, and behind them there was chaos, and around them was a battalion of cultists on horseback, and in the front of the cart one of the cultists had turned to face them, a lewd grin on his features. “Your monster wake up, princess?” he asked in Latin, and Grizzop felt himself snarling, ears going flat against his head. Sasha curled closer around him, holding him ever tighter, and didn’t answer. “We’re close now, you know.”

He turned away, and Grizzop could feel Sasha’s chest heaving with panicky breaths, her heart hammering. “I’m sorry,” she breathed in English, knees drawing up. “I’m sorry, Grizzop, but you were - and, and I couldn’t leave you, and - ”

“It’s okay,” Grizzop said. “It’s all right, we’ll get out of this. What...what happened?”

“They...they let me heal you,” Sasha muttered. She didn’t elaborate.

Grizzop swallowed around the tight knot in his throat. “We’ll get out,” he said again. Sasha bowed her head, enveloped Grizzop completely, and he allowed it, curling one hand around her wrist and resting against her chest, listening to her breathing. “It’s okay,” he said again. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

* * *

Grizzop had dozed off by the time the cart came to a halt, and was woken up by a hand curling around his ears and yanking him backwards. Sasha cried out in fury and grabbed for him, but another cultist dragged her away, tugging her into an embrace, one hand cradling her jaw. “Just want to see,” the cultist said. “Just want to see your little monster, princess.”

_“Get your filthy fucking hands - !”_ Grizzop snarled, and was cut off by a fist to his stomach, doubling him over, retching.

“You said!” Sasha hissed. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“Said we wouldn’t kill it, and we didn’t,” said the cultist standing over Grizzop. He yanked him upright again, twisting his ears painfully until he arched backwards, gasping for air, glaring. “Now, then, what’s so special about a little runt of a monster that you’d go out of your way to save him?” the cultist asked. He ran his palm over Grizzop’s chest, tugging on the ties of his shirt. Grizzop, belatedly, wondered what had happened to his armor. To his weapons. “You speak a civilized language, creature? Got anything to say for yourself?”

“Leave him alone,” Sasha growled. “You said - ” The cultist holding her shoved her forward onto her knees, kneeling over her, his chest pressed along her back, and Grizzop saw red.

He twisted in his captor’s grip, slipped free, and darted forward, slamming his skull into the cultist’s nose, watching with grim satisfaction as he fell backwards. Then Sasha tackled him to the ground, curling once more around him and grunting as a boot meant for Grizzop connected with her ribcage. “Stop it, Grizzop!” she spat, teeth clenched, eyes bright. “Just - just wait - ” And a hand tangled in her hair, pulled her upright. “Wait,” she gasped, in Latin now. “Wait, wait, please, we’ll be quiet, right?”

The cultist whose nose Grizzop had broken snarled, wiping blood from his face, but was held back by two of his friends. Grizzop held his gaze, teeth bared, until another cultist hooked a finger beneath the collar lying heavy at his throat and shook him lightly. “Fine,” he said. “Obviously you’re attached.” He dragged Grizzop forward, gripped his wrist tightly, and loosed one shackle just long enough to loop his chains with Sasha’s, tugging them tight together, face to face. Grizzop glanced up at her; Sasha met his eyes, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, then closed her eyes as the cultist tugged her jacket off her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Grizzop demanded sharply, then, remembering again where and when they were, repeated the question in stilted Latin, more urgently as Sasha’s shirt was sliced away. He felt a spear slip beneath his own shirt, then cut it away. _“What are you doing?”_

“It _does_ speak,” one of the cultists said. “Don’t worry. We’re not gonna touch you.” This was not comforting, especially as the other cultists laughed. Especially as a hand dipped beneath Sasha’s waistband.

“Don’t touch her,” Grizzop growled. “You just said you wouldn’t - ”

Sasha was dragged to her feet and Grizzop found himself dangling. She wrapped her arms around him as they were lead over to a bonfire and dumped in a pile just outside the ring of soldiers seated around it. “M’sorry,” Sasha whispered. “Gods, Grizzop, I’m sorry.” She bent over him again, her skin warm against his.

“Don’t be sorry,” Grizzop mumbled. “It’s okay, it’s - ”

He was getting sick of people yanking on his ears, dammit. He could only bend back so far, bound as he was to Sasha, and he found himself twisted into an awkward position, staring at a cultist tugging his cock free and stroking it leisurely. Grizzop went stiff, shock and fury and disgust writhing in his gut. “Sick fuck,” he hissed. “I’ll cut it off, you bastard - no, _leave her alone!”_

“No touching,” one of the cultists drawled, bored, and the one who’d grabbed Sasha grumbled, but loosened his grip on her breast, tweaking a nipple as he did. Sasha had closed her eyes, shivering as a hand wound into her hair and pulled her head back, and Grizzop opened his mouth to protest that surely that counted as _touching,_ but then something hot and wet splattered against his cheek and he cried out in disgust, jerking his head away, one ear flicking wildly.

He bowed his head, shuddering, unable to reach his face to wipe the filth away. It dripped down his neck. Another hand gripped his skull, turning his face towards another cock. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a cultist’s hand speed up, watched the pulse of his cock as he painted Sasha’s chest with his come, and Grizzop burned with fury.

He thought of slaughtering them all, squeezing his eyes and mouth shut as the second cultist came on his face. He would kill them. The cultist rubbed his softening prick against Grizzop’s lips and Grizzop snapped at him, missed, then spat on the ground, blinking his eyes clear. He’d kill them. He’d kill them. _Dear gods there were so many of them._

They came and went throughout the night, treating Grizzop and Sasha as party favors, entertainment - they’d sit by the fire, eat, laugh, then come over and jerk off in their faces, into her hair, over Grizzop’s chest. “Hey, creature,” one of them said, after a few hours, after they were both sticky-slick with their spend, after their captors had time enough to get drunk and loose. “Why don’t you give your damsel a kiss, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Grizzop muttered. His ears drooped, dripping with filth. Sasha had curled over him again, a comforting weight in spite of the wet sheen of her skin. At some point in the night he had taken her hand; she squeezed it weakly now.

There was laughter. “Kiss her,” the cultist said, “or we’ll give her something better to do with her mouth.”

“You said - ”

“Grizzop,” Sasha mumbled. “It’s...fine. Better you than...” She glanced over at the bonfire.

Grizzop quivered, then squeezed his eyes shut, stretched up, and pressed a quick peck to her lips.

The cultists burst into cruel laughter. “You can do better than that!” The one who had spoken before staggered to his feet and wove his way over to them, grasped Sasha’s jaw in one hand, puckering her lips; she winced. “Go on, give her a proper kiss. You owe her, don’t you? Saving your life like that. Need me to show you how?”

Grizzop glared, letting out a slow breath so he didn’t say something rash, then tilted his face to Sasha. “Sorry,” he muttered, then kissed her, slow and lingering, waiting for her to part her lips, to press her tongue into his mouth. He could taste brine on her tongue and growled low in his throat; her hand tightened around his. The cultists jeered.

“That’s better,” one of them said, and Grizzop slit open one eye to see him slowly pulling himself off. “You know, I’ve been to whorehouses where the girls make a big show of fucking dogs, but this really is something else.”

Sasha twitched where she was pressed up against Grizzop; he wanted to coil around her like she had tried to do for him, to protect her from this. Instead he kissed her as softly as he could, mindful of his teeth, grasping her hands in his. The cultist aimed for their mouths when he came.

* * *

They didn’t even leave a guard awake, just passed out drunk around the fire, leaving their captives kneeling and defiled a little ways off. Sasha picked the locks on their chains with shaking hands. It took her three tries.

Grizzop’s shirt was a lost cause; he used it to scrub himself clean, or at least cleaner, then offered it to Sasha to do the same. She did, then tugged her jacket closed, slipped away, and came back a few moments later with their gear. Grizzop felt better with his bow back in his hands; Sasha flipped one of her daggers in her hand, glanced towards the crackling remains of the bonfire, and raised an eyebrow at Grizzop. He grinned, drew an arrow, and gave an elaborate little bow in the direction of their snoring would-be captors.

_After you._

They stole a horse afterwards, and a tunic for Grizzop, though it was bloody and much too big for him. Sasha sat behind Grizzop, holding him around the waist, and he kept an arrow nocked and readied, eyes scanning their surroundings. They found a stream, followed it until they found a defensible outcropping, dismounted.

“I’ll watch your back,” Grizzop said, sitting with his back up against a rock. “If you want to...” He gestured at the stream. His skin felt sticky, hot, too tight. He itched. Sasha could go first.

“Yeah,” she said shortly. “Thanks, Grizzop.”

She stripped with efficient movements, walked into the stream, submerged in it completely and emerged shivering and blue-lipped. “Fuck,” she said, teeth chattering. _“Fuck,_ that’s cold.” She rubbed at her arms, then her face, then her hair. “Gods, fuck, okay, okay. Your turn.”

She wasn’t wrong. The water was icy, and Grizzop only let it close over his head for a moment before he broke back into the open air, but it was better than the unwholesome, sweat-sticky heat that had settled under his skin. He scrubbed at his ears, his chest, his legs. He longed for one of those scrubby things Hamid was so fond of. He wondered if Hamid had made it home. He stopped that line of thought in its tracks, stamped it forcibly into quiet. _Later, later._

Sasha dropped a blanket from her bag of holding onto him when he staggered back to dry land. “Thanks,” he said, wrapping himself in it. He hesitated, then Sasha tugged him close, into her bedroll, damp and cool at his back. “We should set up a watch,” he muttered.

“Probably,” Sasha said. “Grizzop, I - ”

“Don’t apologize anymore,” Grizzop said. “You...thanks. For saving me. I...” He trailed off, staring out at the lazy currents in the stream. There was too much he wanted to say, so he said none of it, and they lapsed into quiet. They didn’t set up a watch.

“M’glad you’re here,” Sasha mumbled eventually, into the top of his head. “That it’s you.”

“Yeah.” Grizzop curled a hand loosely around hers. “Me too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I may have gone slightly overboard with this.


End file.
